I learned how to swear from the best.
A sailor in the U.S. Navy. A captain with the Buffalo Fire Department. Grandpa Gizmo.
One day, when I was about two years old, I was at my grandparents’ house. They lived just down the street and it was Christmastime. Grandpa was doing what dads love to do most – hang the lights. Except Grandpa was incredibly gifted with his combination of swears and the gusto with which he enunciated them. This time, he tried to be careful because I was toddling around.
The lights did what Christmas lights do – were tangled in an ungodly fuckery. Carefully, under his breath, he muttered “fucking lights.”
I’m not sure how many of you have spent time around toddlers, but no matter how deeply you hide it, how quietly you whisper it, the child is going to hear the worst of the worst and only that.
“John, you need to watch it,” my Gran said, pointing at me. “Naw, she’s fine,” he incorrectly stated.
In 5…4…3..2..1…”fucking lights! Fucking lights!” I gleefully chanted and danced around, doing whatever I was doing but now singing what would become my favorite word in the whole world.
Fast forward 35 years….I am driving with Jack on our way to pick up cupcakes for Eric’s 40th birthday. The insane part of me decided I would take Jack with me after I picked him up from daycare – you know, during drive time on a Friday afternoon. By the mall.
I was stuck behind a city bus and finally made it into the left lane. I got about 50 feet when the oh-so-brilliant drivers in front of me all hit their brakes.
My reptile brain took over, completely forgetting where I was and who I was with.
“FUCK YOUR FUCKING FACES!” I yelled, almost at the top of my lungs.
Jack let out a howl. “Oh God. I’m so sorry, baby! I’m not mad at you! Oh God, I’m so sorry! It’s ok! It’s ok!”
We were less than a mile from the cupcake shop. He stopped crying but he was repeating something over and over that I couldn’t quite make out at first.
In the sweetest, quietest voice I heard “fucking faces. Fucking faces.”
“Oh buddy! No, no, Mommy said a really bad thing. Those cars were being so unsafe and I got mad but I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sorry but please stop saying that.”
Nope. Just over and over and over, reminding me that if you’re an asshole before you become a parent, chances are you will be an asshole parent.
I got him out of the car seat and he was still softly murmuring it as we went inside, but luckily I had the distraction technique of picking out cupcakes and he quieted down. He also sampled some red velvet ice cream and perked right up.
As we headed back home, he started up again, but this time I couldn’t exactly figure out what he was saying.
“Mama, yucky car faces,” he finally clearly explained.
THANK GOD. Yes, let’s go with this.
“Yeah, yucky car faces. They weren’t being safe, were they?”
“Why, mama?”
Buddy, I have no idea.